


Not What I Was Expecting

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Bad Sex, F/M, Fear, Heterosexual Sex, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>This anon has a medical condition which, more often than not, causes sex to be freaking painful. All foreplay is fine, but actual penetration (beyond fingering) usually feels like my insides are being punched, no matter the level of arousal.</i></p><p><i>Would love a fill where Hawke has a similar problem, has maybe even avoided intimacy for a long time because of it. M!LI discovers the problem and is determined to make sex good for her. Would adore Experienced!Fenris for this, but would also be happy with Anders, Seb, Cullen or Nate.</i></p><p><i>Maybe he... introduces her to anal sex, rocks her world in others ways, is awesome enough to figure out a way around the problem (very shallow penetration, no more than half way, combined with foreplay elements), or - if Anders - magically heals her (damn the real world and its lack of magic)."</i></p><p>I couldn't go past this one. <3 Not my best writing ever, but given how little this issue is talked about, I feel like I've done a (minor) public service by attempting to write it. See my notes for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“No, no, stop, _stop_.” Marian’s agonized cry ripped through the bedroom, a place that up until now had held nervous giggles and breathy sighs and desperate moans. At the sound of the hysterical, panicked tone of her voice, and the way her body locked down around him- and not in a good way, either- Anders jerked backwards, the adrenalin in his veins suddenly not from excitement. He fell away from her, panting from thwarted arousal and panic as his evening devolved from ‘ _best thing to happen ever_ ’ to something more akin to ‘ _something that only happens in my nightmares_ ’.

Marian was crying, her limbs trembling as she turned away from him and clutched a pillow to her stomach. “Sweetheart?” he whispered tentatively, reaching a hand out for her.

She moaned and flinched away from him; it was like someone had buried a knife in his gut. “Marian, love, what’s wrong? You were okay a moment ago.”

She sobbed, a wounded noise that shredded him from the inside out. His erection withered and died, his cock lying flaccid between his legs as he crawled over to her and tried to put his arms around her. “Sweetheart, I know it was your first time, but it’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt-”

With a wail she turned and buried her head against his chest, curling tightly against him; feeling the tension in her body he began to feel a niggle of doubt. “Marian?” he whispered, kissing the top of her head and running a soothing hand down her back. “What’s wrong?”

Between sobbing gulps for air, she forced out “ _Hurts_.”

His worry increased, the healer in him beginning to sit up and take notice. “Hurts how, sweetheart?”

She took a shuddering breath. “Like I’m being _stabbed_. I knew it would hurt the first time, but Anders, it just… _I can’t_ …” She broke off, fresh tremors shaking through her as she dissolved into tears again.

He held her close, bemused and concerned, until she slowed to a stop. She nuzzled against the side of his neck, the gesture affectionate if not erotic, and whispered “I’m sorry, Anders, it’s just… it’s not what I was expecting. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. He brushed her hair away from her face and laid a kiss on the tip of her nose. “We don’t have to have sex right now. We can do this whenever you’re ready. We were probably just overeager and you weren’t ready.”

She hiccupped and offered him a watery smile. “You promise?” she said, her voice wavering.

He smiled and waggled his eyebrows at her, earning him a giggle. “Sweetheart, you can take all the time in the world. I’ll wait as long as you need. You’ll see- it’ll get better with time.”

***

It didn’t get better with time.

When they tried again a week later, when Marian finally plucked up the courage and shyly led him to her bedroom again with _that_ look in her eyes, he did his best to go slowly and not let his wild desire for this amazing woman get the better of him. It did no good- he saw the moment that the passion died in her eyes, the moment that her body locked up in panic and agony. He soothed her while she cried, trying to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, and that some people just needed time to get used to sex.

It was a little longer before she approached him again, and after that things seemed to become awkward between them. She didn’t want to talk about it, and he could see the anger and the grief and the frustration in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking. Once she even went out of her way not be alone with him, chasing after Isabela at the Hanged Man on the pretence that the pirate would need help carrying drinks.

His own frustration began to mount, having come so desperately close to having everything he’d ever wanted only to have it snatched away. He couldn’t help her if she wouldn’t let him near her, and he couldn’t get near her while she remained so traumatized by the threat of pain. So as he watched her slip further into avoidance and self-loathing, he began to scheme.

If Marian avoided inviting him back because she was afraid of the pain, he’d just have to find a way to make her so damned aroused that her excitement overruled the fear. And then, when he had her at his mercy, he’d show her all the things that had given him such a colourful reputation in Kinloch Hold and try to get to the bottom of her maddening condition.

***

The house was dark when Marian finally got home, everyone probably abed hours ago. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the ache all the way down her back. They’d set out yesterday to deal with a smuggler’s den further down the coast that was foolish enough to try to muscle in on the lyrium trade; as reluctant as she was to do anything that would further the Coterie’s stranglehold over the city, she knew the last thing they needed was a turf war that could drag down the Chantry _and_ the Templars _and_ the City Guard. When Aveline had asked her to accompany her while she investigated she’d grudgingly agreed, taking Varric and Merrill along.

She hadn’t asked Anders along. She’d seen the flash of hurt in his eyes when she’d awkwardly explained, a brief flare of anger, but he’d smiled and said he understood and that he had things to do anyway. Not that he wouldn’t have immediately set those things aside to accompany her if she’d asked him; he was like that, eager to please and content just to be around her.

Right now, it was the polar opposite of how she was feeling. She couldn’t bear to be around him, knowing how desperately he wanted her and how badly she’d disappointed him in that regard. He might not have voiced his unhappiness, but she knew it had to be there. They’d been perched on the pinnacle of sex and she’d shoved him away, _three times now_ , appalled by the feel of him. She still liked him- loved him, maybe?- but the thought of him touching her again made her cringe and press her hands against her stomach at the imagined pain she felt there. All she wanted was someone to cuddle with and snuggle up against in the mornings, someone to kiss and laugh with.

“And that’s what you have a dog for,” she muttered under her breath as she climbed the stairs wearily. “As many disgusting, slobbery kisses as you could possibly want, minus the threat of sex. Well, when he’s not in that leg-humping phase, of course.”

She walked as carefully as possible past the other rooms, holding her breath until she was safely on her way to her own room. She slumped against the door for a moment, sighing as she felt all the little twinges and aches ripple through her, before pushing her way into the bedroom.

The curtains were drawn- no big surprise- and the fire was warm and cheerful, which _was_ surprising given that no one should have been in her room to stoke it for hours now. Then she started to take in the other little details that her tired eyes had skipped over at first glance- low burning candles on the bedside table, the open door to the wash room where the tub sat full and steaming, the scattered petals over the floor, the smell of some subtle incense tickling at her nose…

The door closed behind her. She jumped, although she wasn’t sure why given that she already knew who it was.

“Anders,” she said, feeling her pulse quicken at the sight of him- and not completely out of panic. A part of her melted at all the effort he’d gone to, and she wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination immune to his physical charm; she wouldn’t have invited him to her bed in the first place if that were the case.

He latched the door, the click of the lock sending an unpleasant surge of adrenalin through her. “Marian,” he said, taking a few careful steps towards her. There was a controlled kind of energy to him, something cautiously powerful- like the sleek muscles of a cat as it first focussed on its prey. Her pulse skittered about wildly, from fear and from arousal; he had gone to a lot of effort with his appearance, his hair hanging damp and loose around his shoulders and his skin pink from scrubbing. She felt a pang, a deep sense of longing as she stared at him, equal parts desire and frustration. He stopped close to her, taking one of her hands between his, bringing it up to his mouth to brush a kiss against her knuckles. “I missed you,” he said simply.

She clenched her free hand to stop it from trembling. “I missed… that was sweet of you.” Her tongue felt seven times too big, the words awkward and foolish even before she blurted them out. Maker, what could she possibly say to him that wouldn’t make him hate her? “Have you… um… have you been here long?”

“A few hours,” he said, turning her hand over and placing a kiss in her palm. “But I had things to keep me busy. Besides, that doesn’t matter now- you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

Marian felt a surge of panic, half from the fear of the pain and half from the terrible, aching horror that she would disappoint him yet again and he would despise her. If he felt even a fraction of her own self-loathing, if she saw that familiar abhorrence in his own beautiful eyes… she didn’t think she could stand it.

“No, Anders, I don’t-” She bit her lip, willing it to stop trembling. “I’d just prefer it if we forgot anything ever happened between us. It was obviously a mistake, and I just don’t want to… go through that again.”

He ran his hands up her sides soothingly, the gesture sending little butterflies tumbling through her. She took a tremulous breath, her eyes filling as her body warred with itself; when she couldn’t hold back the first tear, she tried to duck her head so he wouldn’t see it.

Warm fingers brushed against her cheek, catching the tear before it could curl towards her mouth. He rubbed his fingers together, the little drop of liquid vanishing as if it had never been. “Marian,” he said softly, sliding his hand under her chin and turning her face up to his. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. There’s nothing to cry about tonight.”

She bit back a somewhat hysterical laugh. Nothing to cry about? Had he not been paying attention the last few times she’d invited him back to her bed? “Anders, I can’t do this. I _don’t_ want this. Please, just… _I don’t know what you want from me._ ”

He pressed his forehead to hers, his nose brushing against hers. “I want you to be happy, Marian.”

“Then why are you here?” she whispered, blinking furiously to hold back more tears. “Anders, I don’t want sex, and I-”

“Tonight is not about sex,” he murmured, guiding her into the wash room, his hand burning at the small of her back. “Tonight is about finding out what you like, sweetheart. No sex, no pain- nothing to worry about. It’s just about being relaxed together and learning your body.”

She tensed automatically when his hands danced down the back of her tunic, laces falling apart under his clever fingers. In front of them, the tub was full to just over halfway, steam curling gently from the surface like graceful, ethereal dancers. She didn’t say anything as the fabric slid from her shoulders, wrapping her arms around her exposed stomach as if that would protect her. He was being nothing but gentle, nothing but divinely sweet and tender, but her body felt the slow swell of desire building within her and responded with an equal throb of panic.

“So here are the rules for tonight,” he said, brushing her hair aside to press a kiss to the back of her neck. “I keep my clothes on unless you tell me otherwise. That way you know I’m not going to trick you into anything, or catch you unawares. Any time you feel uncomfortable with something, you tell me immediately and we’ll stop. But most importantly, love, you have to trust me. I’m not going to hurt you- I just want to make you feel good. Agreed?”

She hesitated for a long moment. “Agreed,” she finally whispered, both excited and terrified at once.

He stripped her clothes from her leisurely, making each touch a caress, the clothing sliding away from her body in tantalising, slithering falls of fabric. She couldn’t help but shiver despite her apprehension, tilting her head to the side to let him nuzzle at the side of her neck when he pressed in closer. She’d never felt so conflicted, her body at once singing from his touch and then screaming at her to flinch away. Before she could centre herself, her clothing was gone, with no protective barrier between her body and the cool night air. She could feel his eyes on her and her skin broke out in goose flesh, the trembling setting back in despite how hard she tried to fight it.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” he murmured, tugging gently on her earlobe with his lips until she moaned softly. She could feel his arousal, pressing into her back even through his breeches and she couldn’t help the wave of anxiety that swept through her. He seemed to notice, shifting his hips out of the way. “Let’s get you relaxed, shall we?”

He didn’t seem to take it to heart whenever she flinched or twisted away or shut her eyes to avoid looking at him. He didn’t get angry with her, or grow frustrated like she expected; instead, with gentle, patient hands he coaxed her into the bath, his touch teasing but never demanding. When she sank back against the tub with a tentative sigh, the heat easing her tired muscles, she only tensed for a moment when his hands ran down her shoulders, massaging away the aches.

“Do you like this, Marian? Or do you want me to stop?”

He was still behind her, and she twisted so that she could read the expression in his eyes, hunting for signs of dishonesty or annoyance. She found none, nothing but love and patience, and it made something quiver delightedly within her. “Keep going,” she whispered, turning back to face forward again, touching her fingers to his hand briefly.

His massage was sensual without ever turning overtly sexual; she relaxed even as she felt that slow burning fire in her blood burn brighter. She moaned when his fingers ran through her hair, rubbing scented soaps into her skin, drizzling warm water over her head to wash away the suds. The whole moment felt so surreal, so different to the fast and giddy way they had come together the first few times. This slow and gentle seduction unnerved her as much as it enthralled her, and when he scooted around to the far side of the tub, dragging a stool up to the side of the bath, she blushed and felt obliged to try and cover herself from his roving gaze, hands fluttering awkwardly in the water for the best position to cover the most flesh.

He was magnificent. His sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, the tawny dusting of hair on his forearms catching the light from the fire as his hand dipped beneath the water. His hair was still loose, golden and fiery and in need of a good brush. His eyes were sparkling, serious and smiling all in one, gaze flitting over her body despite her attempts to hide it. “Don’t be shy, Marian,” he said as he tugged her foot out of the water and propped it on the edge of the bath. She moaned when he began to rub, his thumbs instinctively finding the best places to press down.

“I’m not… alright I’m a little shy.” She squirmed as he dug his thumb into a particularly good spot. “I know you’ve seen me naked, but this is a little different. I… I don’t know what to do.”

A smile flitted across his lips. “You could amuse a poor, hard-working mage by telling him a story while he slaves over your gorgeous little toes?”

She couldn’t help it- she giggled. “A story? I suppose I can do that- what kind of story did you have in mind?”

His smile broadened, a hint of something wicked shining through. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, eyes darkening with desire as he rubbed slowly at her aching foot.

She felt a thrill run through her at the bold question, the first true rush of desire that had no hint of fear attached to it. She bit her lip and glanced away, feeling her cheeks flush. “A little…” she hedged.

He leant down and swirled his tongue around her toes, sucking the smallest into his mouth and making her writhe until the water was splashing over the edge of the tub in gentle waves. “Tell me about it,” he whispered, moving onto the next toe.

“I…” Her face was burning. “There’s not much to tell. I… didn’t get very far with it. And I didn’t do it often.”

He paused to glance up at her, the heat in his gaze making her moan. “Did you ever make yourself come?”

Heat pooled in her belly, and her hands were suddenly gripping the edge of the tub rather tightly. “I… um. To be completely honest, no- I didn’t. I mean, it felt good and all, but I didn’t quite… get the hang of it.”

Anders let go of her foot and eased it back down into the water. She shivered at the rush of warmth over her cooled skin, gasping a little when he tugged her other foot from the tub at an angle that left her remarkably more exposed than she had been a moment ago. “Show me how you did it,” he said, his eyes lingering over her bared sex. “Touch yourself for me, Marian. Show me how you like to be touched.”

Something wild and decadent ran through her and she realised she was holding her breath. Her skin felt far too tight and she couldn’t hold his gaze anymore. Chuckling nervously, she said “Oh, well, um… no, it’s okay, there’s not really any point to that. I mean, I wasn’t very good at it so it’s not like I’ll… get a result.”

He placed an open mouthed kiss to her ankle. “The first time you used a bow, did your arrow hit the target right in the centre? Or did it take you weeks and weeks of practise to familiarise yourself with the weapon, and the way it moved and responded to your hands?”

She blushed at the double meaning. “Anders, I-”

“Did you take the time to learn your own body, Marian?” At the next kiss to her ankle she moaned and twisted in the water again, aroused by the way that even the little waves seemed to caress her skin. “Did you practise in the right time and place, or did you just steal awkward moments and abandon them too quickly? Did you allow yourself time to be seduced by your own touch?”

She was panting now, his words burning through her and leaving her aching and confused and needy. “I didn’t,” she whispered, but by the Maker she damn well wanted to now.

His eyes seared into her. “Then let me guide you. Touch yourself, sweetheart. Let me see your beautiful face when you come.”

Oh, _Maker_. Blushing furiously and looking anywhere but at his face, she hesitantly let her hand come to rest over her sex. Already her blood was pounding in her ears, the tender flesh between her thighs throbbing in anticipation; biting her lip, she dipped one finger down and brushed against her clit, shivering at the first contact.

His fingers ran slowly up her calf, teasing her legs further apart while his gaze set her on fire. “Good girl,” he murmured, drawing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. “Show me what you like.”

Breathing had never seemed like a difficult thing up until now. Panting, she rubbed a little harder, dancing around the bud until she whimpered. “Oh, Maker, _Anders_ …” Having him watch her was intoxicating, the most erotic thing she’d ever done in her life. She felt wildly vulnerable and vastly powerful all in one; he was staring at her shamelessly, his own breathing decidedly shallow as he watched her fingers play.

It felt different; _she_ felt different. Maybe it was the incense and the candles and the scented soap making her skin slick and luxurious, maybe it was the look in his eyes and the way he made her feel, but this felt so much better than in the past when she’d let her hands wander beneath the sheets late at night. She could feel heat and tension coiling within her, beautiful and agonising and she let her head fall back against the side of the tub, moaning at the expression on his face as her eyes fluttered closed.

Something scraped against the stone; she could still feel his hand on her thigh beneath the water, fingers drifting ever higher with each pass. She wasn’t surprised when she felt his other hand come to rest against her chin, turning her face up to meet his. Marian let out a soft noise, not quite a gasp and not quite a moan, as he kissed her gently, lapping at her mouth with slow, drugging motions that had her reaching up to bury her free hand in his hair.

“May I touch you?”

The request made her whimper, her hips rolling against her hand without thought. There was fear in there too, but not so much that she could deny him this. “Yes please,” she breathed.

The hand on her thigh glided slowly higher, and when he brushed up against the outside of her sex she couldn’t help the strangled gasp that escaped from her. His touch evoked so much more than her own did, fire and need and yearning and fear all rolled into one confusing bundle of emotions that bubbled within her. He took his time, never rushing, never impatient or aggressive. When his fingers finally joined hers, sliding together to follow her movements she sobbed out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding.

“Like that?” he whispered against her mouth, his fingers swirling and pressing in just the right rhythm. He was masterful, _perfect_ , with exquisite pressure and an instinctive knowledge of where to rub softly and where to stroke harder and the tension within her was coiling higher, her breathing erratic…

“ _Anders_ ,” she choked, and then she cried out, writhing as pleasure overtook her. She arched up a little, the water sloshing about noisily and she could have sworn that her toes actually _curled_. Anders, for his part, didn’t relent in his teasing, his fingers only slowing very reluctantly as he nuzzled at the edge of her mouth.

“Are you relaxed now?” His smile was smug, his eyes wicked, and she would have playfully berated him if she weren’t feeling so dazed. His hand was trailing lazily through the water, grazing gently along her thigh with every pass.

Her head lolled back against the rim of the tub. “I don’t think I have any bones left,” she muttered, eliciting a chuckle from him. That in turn caused her to smile, a little spark of hope burning within her. She’d felt good from his touch, more than good, and she hadn’t panicked when he’d asked to touch her. That had to be a sign, right? Maybe she’d just been hasty the last few times… maybe she just hadn’t been ready for sex. If they tried again now… “Anders,” she began slowly.


	2. Chapter 2

He shook his head, his hand withdrawing from the water. “I know what that look means, Marian, and the answer is no.” He coaxed her gently from the bath, hands steadying her when she wobbled a little on her feet. They laughed together when she stumbled climbing out, falling into his arms slick and oiled. She could feel his erection through his pants, and for a brief moment it made her blood stop cold, that familiar surge of panic rushing through in its’ place. He took hold of her chin and made her face him, eyes so tender that she couldn’t help but moan softly. “No matter what you think, sweetheart, you’re not ready. I’m not going to rush this with you.”

He towelled her dry, the fluffy expanse of the towel seemingly determined to ignite her already shattered nerves and she tried to bite off the little gasps before they escaped from her mouth but it was a woeful failure on her part. Every little sound she made saw the spark in his eyes burn brighter, and when he bent down to kiss her she responded eagerly, digging her hands into his hair and moaning desperately into his mouth. The towel slipped from her, leaving her naked before him; when his hands slid over her hips, dragging her flush against him, she clung to him and hooked her foot around the back of his calf. She felt him again, hard and hot and pressing into her bare stomach, shielded only by a thin layer of clothing, but she didn’t feel as horrified as before. No, she just felt hot and needy and oh, _Maker_ , there was a yearning inside of her, a desperate need for him to fill her, to fuck her even. She hadn’t felt this good last time, surely; she would have remembered. Maybe if she just…

He caught her hand before it could slip inside the top of his pants. “Not happening, sweetheart,” he rasped, nuzzling and biting gently along the edge of her jaw. She could feel his breath fanning across her skin, hot and desperate, and it made her shiver with delight to know she’d pushed him so close. “I’m not going to ruin any progress I’ve made just because I couldn’t keep my pants on.”

“You said tonight was about me,” she pouted. “And I want to touch you.”

He groaned and nipped at the junction of her neck and shoulder. “And much as I would love that, it’s not going to happen.” She let out a squeak of alarm when he tucked his arm under her legs and hefted her effortlessly into his embrace. She had a brief moment to see the fire in his eyes, her breath catching in her chest as he descended on her mouth, tongues and teeth crashing together in a kiss that was much less seductive and much needier than their earlier ones had been.

He stumbled towards the bed with her in his arms, dropping her on top of the coverlet from enough height that she bounced a little. She couldn’t help but giggle, but then he was on her again, pressing her down into the mattress with the weight of his body, his thigh pressed between her legs as he kissed her wildly. His hands were everywhere at once, petting and teasing and coaxing her ever higher, and when he shifted down her body, laying kisses in a line down her neck, she found herself whispering for him, _begging_ for him, squirming and writhing with each new touch.

When he nuzzled at her breast she let out a small cry; he breathed slow, hot air onto her nipple, teasing her with light swipes of his tongue until she was arching up into him, pressing herself up to his mouth. He chuckled and obliged her, suckling on the tender flesh while she moaned and threaded her fingers through his hair.

She felt alive, she felt wonderful, she felt hot and tight and sexy… and it was then of course that her mind decided to wander. She fought the urge to flinch as the memories flooded through her, the same glorious feelings having danced through her on that first night together- before everything had been ruined by her traitorous body.

The first time she’d invited him back to her bed, they’d been giddy as a pair of teenagers, and had fumbled their way towards sex far too quickly. That’s not to say there hadn’t been foreplay, more that they’d both been far too eager to touch one another, to experience one another, and the moment had come upon them far too quickly, with nowhere near enough preparation. The second time had been awkward, and she had been tense far too early, the niggling fear of pain pushing her to get it over and done with as soon as possible. And the third time… she had no idea why she’d even suggested the third time. It had been humiliating, and the least intimate moment of her life. Her own fault really- all she’d wanted was to make him happy, to convince herself that she’d been wrong the first two times and that _this_ time would go well.

She’d never felt so worthless afterwards, so full of hateful self-loathing and shame that she threw up the moment he was gone. She’d cried herself to sleep, alone and empty and hurting and knowing without a doubt that this was her fate forever after.

She realised he’d stopped his tender ministrations and glanced down to see him watching her seriously, his cheek resting against the swell of her breast. “Is everything okay, love?”

Her heart skittered about wildly at the endearment. She had to stop this, before things got out of hand- before he realised what a mistake he’d made in choosing her and grew to resent her for it. “I don’t know if we should be doing this,” she whispered, biting her lip. “I just think that, given our history, this probably isn’t a good idea.”

“I don’t think this is the right time and place for maudlin self-reflection,” he said with a grin that did things to her insides. “This bed here is Anders Country, and in this bed, my word is law. And I don’t want you getting upset over things in our past that we can’t change.”

“Anders, I-” She bit her lip to stop herself from blurting out something stupid, blinking furiously to stop the threat of tears. “ _I can’t be what you want._ ”

There was something exquisitely tender in his expression as he reached up to brush her hair away from her eyes. “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” he asked softly, running the backs of his fingers slowly down her cheek.

Tears burned her eyes. “Well, then, judge me!” she snapped, the words coming out far harsher than she intended. The ache in her chest at the thought of him growing to hate her made her feel light headed and empty.

He reached up with the same hand and wiped away the tears that fell. Something flickered in his eyes, determination and desire shining from his face. “No,” he said simply, bending down and capturing her mouth with his before she could protest and push him away.

She moaned and kissed him just as fervently in return, his body hot over hers and the taste of him intoxicating. He was perfect, just so perfect; everything about this was wonderful except for her…

He pulled back, gasping for air, and the need in him made her clutch desperately at his shoulders. “You can’t push me away, Marian,” he said, punctuating each word with quick kisses. “I lay awake for three years, dreaming of having you with me like this. I’m not going to walk away from you just because you seem to think I need sex to be satisfied. So stop trying to convince me otherwise, because it isn’t going to happen.”

She buried her face against his neck. “Then what _is_ going to happen, Anders? I don’t understand what you want from me when I can’t give you that.”

Anders chuckled next to her ear, the sound dark and sultry and setting her body aflame again. “What’s going to happen first, love, is that I’m going wring every drop of pleasure from you that I can.”

Desire spiked within her. Unable to help herself, she whispered “How?”

That chuckle again, and then he was nuzzling at her ear, his mouth hot against her cheek. “I’m going to start by indulging myself. Call me selfish, but I have an insatiable need to taste you as you come.”

She couldn’t breathe. “I… you want to do what?”

His eyes were dark with lust as he came around to face her again. “I want to taste you,” he said, his fingers sliding down low over her stomach and dipping down into her folds. Something wild surged through his gaze. “Mm, and you’re wet again. Do you like that idea, sweetheart? Do you want me to kiss you down there, sucking and licking against your beautiful clit?”

Her head was spinning just from the mere suggestion. “I’ve never thought about it before,” she breathed, moaning as his fingers danced magically.

His grin was pure wickedness. “Thinking time’s over. Time for Anders to indulge himself instead.” Before she could stop him he was slithering down her body, placing burning kisses against her bare skin as he went; she lifted up onto her elbows as he settled down, running his hands up under her to cradle her ass and lift her slightly to his waiting mouth. She let out the breath she’d been holding in a rush, a choked gasp that may have tried to be a word if she’d been capable of more coherent speech at that moment… which she most assuredly was not.

It was breathtaking- looking down to see him splayed between her thighs, nuzzling and licking at the curls with a rapturous expression on his face. If she’d thought it was erotic having him watch her touch herself, it was nothing in comparison to seeing him, his eyes dark and wicked as he delicately parted her with one hand, baring her to his inquisitive tongue.

“Ohhh, Anders…” He pressed the first open mouthed kiss to her sex, his tongue swirling over her clit as he suckled gently and she cried out, dropping back against the pillow and fighting the urge to press her hips up into him. The heat of his mouth was exquisite, and each nibble and kiss made her moan and gasp and shudder, her stomach clenching from the surge of desire that was burning through her.

She whimpered when he stopped, his breath searing her. “Sweetheart, you taste _delicious_.” The dark whisper, so raw and wicked and sexy, made her heart sing and she sobbed for him to continue. “It’s like my own secret treat. I’ll be spoiling myself more often, I think.”

Her hands clenched in the sheets either side of her body, her hips bucking wildly against his mouth. “Oh, Anders, Holy _Maker_.”

He chuckled, the sound humming through her and she sobbed, so close to completion and yet denied every time he slowed down, lips kissing gently instead of suckling ruthlessly, tongue stilling instead of continuing on those lazy sweeps of her flesh. She keened desperately, grinding against him as she choked on air that was by no means revitalising. When his tongue slipped inside of her, his nose nudging at her tender clit, the expected pain didn’t eventuate and the shock was enough to make her pause.

But then the moment passed, and he was teasing her again, the pleasure building with each little twitch of his lips. When he took her clit into his mouth, suckling and nuzzling, she felt something burst inside of her; her back bowed from the force of the climax, undignified sobbing sounds coming from her as she dug her fingers into his hair, dragging him closer. Anders obliged, lapping at her as she came- and stunning her when he slid not one but _two_ fingers into her. Caught in the grips of the orgasm, her body welcomed the intrusion, and it pushed her pleasure higher. She screamed, feet scrabbling for purchase on the bed covers as he finally lifted his head from her sex.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his eyes dark with lust despite his serious expression. His lips glistened, her essence still damp on his mouth and _Blessed Maker_ it was sexy. “I’m inside you, sweetheart. Does it hurt at all? Can you feel me?”

She moaned, still lost in the waves of the climax. Her body pulsed and throbbed, like waves lapping against the edge of a tub, the pleasure just kept washing through her, diminishing a little more each time. But, _oh_ , she could feel him now, and it _ached_ , but it wasn’t awful. In fact it was… tolerable.

“Marian,” he whispered, “sweetheart, tell me how you’re feeling. Is it bad? Do you need me to stop?”

“You’re inside me,” she replied, awed almost beyond belief. It ached, but it was not appalling. Not at all like the other times.

He moved his fingers, just a little twist, and she hissed in a breath as the burn increased. Almost instantly he withdrew from her, sliding free and murmuring soothing words to her, nonsense words without any real meaning but to comfort and calm her. He crawled up the bed beside her, dotting gentle kisses as he went.

She twisted around in his arms, latching onto him ferociously; she buried her face against his chest and wound her legs through his. The ache within her loins began to settle, a dull annoyance now instead of a sharp flare.

“Do you feel okay, Marian?” He shifted, tucking himself around her, wrapping their bodies together until they were so entwined she could hardly tell where she ended and he began. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?”

She pressed her face into his shirt, feeling her cheeks burn with shame again. “It hurt a little,” she admitted, twisting the trust.

He was running his hands through her hair, the movement soothing. “I didn’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. I just wanted to test it, to see what your body was capable of. And look! You managed to adapt to me, to let me in- that means your body can change. With a little practise, we can-”

His unfailing optimism was daunting, and almost as frightening as the pain. “You don’t have to keep doing this, Anders,” she said softly, nuzzling against his jaw. “I’m more than grateful that you chose to come back for me, but it’s better if we leave this on good terms. I can’t ever be what you want me to be, so I think-”

It was his turn to interrupt her. He kissed her, the taste of her on arousal still on his lips. “I’m not done with you yet, messere Hawke,” he murmured, chasing her tongue with his and kissing her until she moaned. “If you think you can just toss me out of your bed while I’m still in the mood to play, you’ve got another thing coming.”

A little flare of unease settled in her belly. “Anders, don’t get me wrong, it _did_ hurt- I don’t want to practise anymore tonight.”

He kissed her fiercely and then sat back on his haunches, a wicked smile on his face. “Who said anything at all about more practising?” he said, the look in his eyes sending a shiver through her. He tugged his shirt up and over his head, and she sat up in alarm, even as her pulse skittered about wildly at the sight of his bare torso.

“You said you were keeping your clothes on!”

He smiled ruefully. “I did, and I’m sorry for breaking that promise.” He climbed off the bed and stood to the side, one hand on the waist band of his pants. Her eyes were drawn down the trail of blond hair that disappeared beneath the fabric, and the obvious bulge of his erection. There was an intensity to him that took her breath away, and she rested back on her knees, waiting to see what had changed his decision. “But I need to show you, sweetheart… there’s nothing frightening about us being together, and I don’t need sex to be find release and pleasure with you. There are more ways than you can possibly imagine.”

“Anders,” she whispered hesitantly, watching obsessively as he unlaced the breeches with those clever fingers of his. She didn’t know what she was trying to ask him- whether she was trying to warn him from continuing, or whether she was begging him to go faster.

He slid the pants slowly down his hips, his cock springing free at the last and making her breath catch. Dear Maker, he was exquisite. Even if she was afraid of the pain, the sight of his naked body roused something within her, a deep and yearning ache that made her fingers itch to reach out and stroke him.

He came back and knelt in front of her on the bed, their knees touching. His cock was as intriguing as it was terrifying, curving slightly to the left as it jutted from the bed of dark gold curls. “You don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to, love, but there’s no reason for you to be scared. You need to see that pleasure is a beautiful thing, and you don’t need intercourse to find it.”

He leant forward and took her hand in his, bringing it to rest on his thigh. He took his cock in his grasp with the other hand, a shudder running through him as he slowly stroked himself. “Men can find pleasure quite easily,” he rasped, threading his fingers through hers. “More so than women, most of the time; it is quite easy for you to learn how to… ‘ _make me happy_ ’ as you put it, without ever having to worry about the risk of pain.”

She felt fascination burning through her. “May I… touch you? Can you teach me?”

His answer was to take her free hand and bring it to his cock; they both gasped at the first contact. Marian felt her hand trembling, aroused and scared at once, touching her fingertips to the little bead of moisture leaking from the slit.

He groaned. “Ah, _love_ , that’s so… oh _Maker_ , I’ve dreamed of this. I’ve wanted to see your hands on me for years now.”

Emboldened by his words, she gripped him with a little more confidence, wrapping her fingers around him. The way his skin seemed to roll over his flesh was intriguing, the satiny length hot and throbbing under her fingers. When she squeezed too tightly he groaned and put a hand over hers, correcting her grip and teaching her the rhythm; his eyes grew lidded and his breathing grew uneven. He gasped at something she did, lunging forward to kiss her, his hands grabbing at her head to pin her in place.

They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and desperate and grasping. Marian continued to stroke him, running her hand up and down his length in the fashion that he had showed her, rubbing her hips against him. They were kissing messily and frantically, he bucking into her hand as he groaned against her mouth.

“Marian, sweetheart, I’m not- ah! I’m not going to last… _ngh_ , oh sweetheart, you’re far too good with your hands. If you want to stop, we should-”

“I want you to come,” she whispered, kissing him as if he were her only source of air. “I want to make you happy.”

He groaned again, desperately now, his movements becoming more erratic the closer he got to that precipice. She could feel him tensing, feel the way his body slowly built up with heat and need and that delicious ache that she knew so well because of him. She watched in fascination at the way he changed, the way his skin grew flushed, his thighs growing tense beneath her palm, his balls tightening as she continued to pleasure him.

Then she saw the moment it began, felt the moment when his entire body went rigid, and his eyes flew open. His jaw dropped, a strangled sound that might have been her name emerging; she gasped, flooded with wonder at the love and the worship in his expression at that moment. He groaned hoarsely, pressing his forehead against hers as he spilled over her hand and belly, hot and sticky, and Maker if it didn’t make her own body burn with need all over again.

It was magical… there was no other word for it. His body still twitched with the final shudders of pleasure and she felt powerful for having been the one to bring him to this point. “Are you alright, my love?” she whispered.

He was panting for air, his chest heaving in a way that drew her eye and filled her stomach with butterflies. In the low light of the fire, all slick with sweat and oil, he glistened like some pagan idol of sex and fertility. “I am more than alright, Marian,” he rasped, tugging her up against him and laying a kiss on her hair. “You’ve made me so very happy. And Blessed Maker, sweetheart, I hope it felt good for you because it damn near killed me.”

Her head was still spinning, and she still ached a little, but she turned her face up to his and kissed him, breathless little sips of him as he drifted back down to her.

“I love you,” he murmured, kissing her cheeks, her jaw, her eyes- anywhere that he could reach. “I’ve been holding off on saying that because you deserve-”

She kissed him before he could say something foolish and ruin this beautiful moment. “If anyone is more deserving of me, I’m yet to meet them,” she whispered. “Anders… you didn’t have to do all this. You could have walked away. No one would have blamed you.”

“But I never would have forgiven myself,” he responded immediately. He pulled back, resting on his elbow as he hung over her. “Love, I can’t promise you a normal life. And I can’t say I know how to fix this… but I don’t want to not try. At either. I love you, and if you’ll have me… I won’t ever leave. No matter what you seem to think, this won’t push me away.”

She felt tears pricking at her eyes again, reaching up to brush his hair aside so that she had something to distract herself. “I don’t ever want you to leave.”

He smiled gently, his eyes sparkling. “I love you,” he said softly, kissing her forehead.

“I love you too,” she whispered. She bit her lip. “And I’m sorry you have to deal with… _this_.”

He laughed. “Sweetheart, you’ve just thrown down the gauntlet there. We’ll work around this, and we’ll try to find something that makes you happy, but in the meantime…” He lowered his mouth until it was a mere hairsbreadth away from hers. “I’m going to have a lot of fun being creative with you.”

Butterflies settled low in her stomach. “Creative? You mean... what we did tonight wasn’t creative?”

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him and settling her over his stomach. His seed was still splattered across her stomach, sticky and cooling rapidly, and he chuckled and fished about for his shirt to clean it off. “Dear one, I’ve only just begun to play with you. You have no idea what I have in store for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this prompt jumped out at me for one reason... namely that I suffer from the same condition as lovely OP.
> 
> One of the reasons I was so drawn to Dragon Age in the first place was that I could experiment with sexuality and feel sexual without ever feeling threatened. Don't misinterpret that to mean I feel threatened by my darling husband- a meeker, more loving man I am yet to come across. But my experiences with sex have taught me a lesson which I have spent many years trying to unlearn: that sex is awful, sex is a violation, sex is invasive and above all else, sex is frightening. Through Dragon Age, I found an environment where I could play with the sexuality I repressed without ever worrying that my fears would be triggered. It was marvellous.
> 
> And then I found this wonderful fandom and realised I wasn't the only one who adored Dragon Age for it's ability to indulge our needs for character relationships that were believable, honest, and sexy as all hell, regardless of gender or sexual preference. So when I saw this prompt and realised that I was even _less_ alone than I previously thought, I had to write it.
> 
> This is by far nowhere near my best writing. It triggered a lot of painful memories, and only time will tell if it was cathartic to write. But I know how alone I felt before I got diagnosed, and I thought that if someone had made the effort to reach out online and talk about an uncomfortable topic, then by god I was going to reach back.
> 
> So. Have a painful story. The writing isn't great, and the story line is shoddy, but it is important.


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